


Breaking Point

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 06:30:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21453550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Every man has his breaking point, even Craig Garrison.  He just had never thought his would come like this.
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

He knew how to end it, the torture, the torment. He knew what his tormentor wanted from him. Just a name, one name. Such a simple thing, but a thing Craig Garrison was determined not to give way on. No, he would hold out. That's all he had to do. His team knew where he was. They were supposed to meet him here. They'd come, they'd rescue him. Surely they would. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut, not say that name. He could do this.

He lay there, spreadeagled, bare chest heaving, eyes closed as he tried to make the ringing in his ears go away. He'd almost given way that time, he'd been tempted to just yell that name, give his captor what he wanted, just to make it stop. But he hadn't. Maybe he could rebuild his resolve while the other man considered what to try next. No, no maybes about it, he WOULD rebuild his resolve. This couldn't go on forever. 

Damn it, he wished he knew how long ago this had started, knew when he could expect his men to come pouring through that door and end this! But he didn't. Time had lost any meaning - his team could be minutes away, they could be an hour, maybe more.

{"An hour?!! I can't hold on for another hour. I can't, can I? How much can I expect of myself? More, perhaps, how much more can I expect from HIM?"} casting a wary glance at the man sitting backwards on that wooden chair, calmly surveying him, obviously deciding on his next move.

The door opened, and Garrison tensed, casting a wild eye in that direction. Not his men, no. His tormentor's confederate. He'd get no mercy from that quarter; he knew better than to even try.

"I need to see to a few other things. Do you need anything before I leave?" came the quiet question. A slow, wicked, promising smile from the one holding that whip, running the dangling lashes through his fingers. Garrison knew quite well what those lashes felt like against his skin. A quick whisper, and the other raised a startled brow, looked at Garrison thoughtfully, but then nodded in acquiescence. 

Soon a small bowl was placed on the table near where Garrison was bound, a door closed between this dimly-lit place and the next room. From the smile of anticipation on the other man's face, Garrison knew he would be facing a test even harsher than what he'd just undergone. Knew, and wondered if he would be strong enough to endure whatever torment waited in that innocent-looking bowl. 

And then his breath was forced out of him as his tormentor reached into that bowl, drew out the next instrument of torture. {"Hold on, stay strong, keep it together,"} he chanted silently to himself, for what seemed an eternity. {"Hold on, hold on, hold on . . ."}

And then, it was too much, and he broke, and in a ferocious yell gave his tormentor what he wanted. Yelled out the name that could cause this to stop. Yelled the name, and a lot more. He heard himself groan, then he convulsed heavily, then fell back in his bonds, panting in reaction..

"See, I told you you'd see things my way. Just a matter of time. Time, psychology, and, um, technique," and Garrison snarled at the man now smiling down at him in triumph.


	2. Chapter 2

Earlier, when he'd finished telling them about that smug little lecture the 'experts' up at HQ had given the team leaders on torture and how to deal with the prospect, the reality, Garrison had snorted in disgust. He'd undergone the real thing, which he was very sure those stiff-collared gentlemen never had.

"Remember when we were pulling Pryor out of that camp? I still remember him telling me that HE'D never break under torture! He should have known better! Every man has a breaking point; he'd even bragged about that to his own prisoners, from what I heard later. According to Chief, he'd tried to find that breaking point, then go past it with them. But not him, no, HE'D hold out, no matter what!" Garrison snorted in disgust.

Well, the other two at the table had had their own experiences, knew a little about the matter as well.

"Yeah, well, Pryor was an arrogant bastard along with everything else. Course every man 'as a breaking point. Enough pressure, any man's gonna eventually talk. Aint aways w'at a man thinks it might be, neither, the thing that breaks him." 

{"But this is too damned serious a subject for such a lovely day. Aint gonna be easy getting Craig on a different track though, not from the look on 'is face,"} Goniff thought to himself, considering his options.

Goniff had gotten a look then, one of those 'I've got a BRILLIANT idea!' looks that made those who knew him well cringe just a little. What Goniff considered 'brilliant', well, sometimes that wasn't the word that first came to the minds of his friends.

"And as for all that's needed being w'at that HQ bloke saying, 'just a little firm resolve to hold firm', why, that's rubbish, at least in the long run. Why, you 'ave as much 'firm resolve' as anyone I've ever met, and bet I could make you talk, even if you made up your mind not to, Craig. Wouldn't need any rough stuff neither." 

He tapped one finger against his temple, nodding wisely, ignoring the look of sheer skepticism on Garrison's face, the slightly wary glance coming from Meghada.

"Psychology, that's w'at it takes, just like you're always 'earing from those experts, except THEY think they're the only ones who know about such things. Going at things from a different angle, that's w'at it takes. Bet I could 'ave you talking before the guys come down to pick us up to 'ead to the pub."

"Oh, really?" Garrison scoffed. "How, and what would I be talking about? I don't think so, Goniff. It's not like I have to be worried about you hurting me. What could you possible do that would make me do anything of the sort? No, I can't see that happening."

Meghada hadn't said a blessed word. She had a pretty good idea of where this was headed, and was fighting now to keep the expression on HER face strictly neutral. But inside??? {"When will Craig learn??! When Goniff gets that look, you do NOT set yourself up that way!"}

Goniff argued, "well, I'm pretty sure I can. Want to give it a try? Like I said, no rough stuff, acourse, and all you'd need to end up saying is - let's see. Oh, we'll keep it simple. You just 'ave to say Meghada's name, maybe ask 'er to come save you from me," sending a sly glance over at the redhead quietly sipping her coffee.

That shit-eating grin should have warned Garrison, made him hesitate, but that grin was accompanied by a look of pure challenge from his resident pickpocket. 

That had been more than Garrison could withstand, and the next thing he knew, there he was submitting himself to 'Goniff the Torturer', fully confident that he'd never talk, certainly never ask Meghada to 'save him'. No, he'd deal with whatever 'psychological pressure' and anything else Goniff decided to bring to the table. Then, when the guys arrived and Garrison still hadn't called out Meghada's name, Goniff would have to admit he'd been wrong. {"Maybe I'll stick Goniff with the tab for the first round as punishment for doubting my resolve."}

Now, in the aftermath, Garrison ran his fingers over that 'whip', the one with the shiny silver handle and the twenty or so 3' lashes made from thin green fabric ribbons, frayed all along their edges to provide nerve-tingling sensations when stroked slowly over the bare skin. On the bed lay the bunch of fluttery swansdown tied to the end of a long string - what nerves that 'whip' left unshattered, that bit of whimsy took care of. He felt his breath thin out, remembering how that had felt, the down just barely touching his skin, but the sensation seeming to sink all the way to his bones or even farther. 

Next to that lay the gloves, the palm of one made of suede formed from the softest of kidskin, the other made most cunningly of rabbit fur. The combination had been almost unbearable, certainly unforgettable.

Oh, and the fur lined wrist and ankle cuffs - couldn't forget those! 

In a small bowl on the table was the melted remains of those ice cubes Goniff had whispered for Meghada to bring him before she supposedly left. 

"Diabolical! You are, you know!" he scolded his pickpocket, taking due note of that grin of pure wicked mischief. "You had this planned long enough to get hold of all this??!"

"Not me, Craig!" Goniff protested. "Was Meghada who already 'ad all this! Didn't even come to my mind til you started telling us about that bit from HQ."

Garrison sent a disbelieving look at the grinning redhead, now occupied in pouring out a hearty drink for each of them.

"You? Where, WHY would you even . . ." frowning, giving her a suspicious look, then widening his incredulous gaze to take in the blond Englishman as well.

Both she and Goniff broke out into a laugh at the expression on his face. 

"Not w'at you're thinking, Craig, promise you that! Never 'ad the need, myself, especially those 'andcuffs and all. Put me right out of the mood, that would! Still, there's those who do 'ave the fancy, that and a lot more. See, next month's Casino's birthday."

Goniff paused to take a sip from his glass, greatly enjoying the look of increasing horror and apprehension on Craig's face at that unexpected twist to this already odd afternoon.

Meghada took up the story with barely-suppressed laughter. 

"Seems Casino had a bit too much to drink a few months back, started telling Josie some of the finer details of one of those highly-diverse publications he has such a fondness for. And, since Josie is quite fond of Casino, SHE made mention to a friend who used to be rather a 'specialist' in that sort of thing, and her friend gave her a few accessories she wasn't using anymore. "Since Tillie's gone into something a bit more rare, you see." Josie was thinking she might be able to make Casino's birthday really extra-special."

Goniff snorted, that grin now looking to split his face in two. "But she got a little nervous, asked Meghada to 'ave a look, maybe even give them a try, just to be sure she wasn't going a bit too far. Never mind she wasn't thinking of going for anything in this Tillie's CURRENT field, w'atever the 'ell THAT might be. 'Gaida didn't ask, and I aint about to; really don't want to know, if you know w'at I mean."

Meghada took over. "Goniff walked in as I was laying them all out on the bed, trying to imagine Casino's reaction when Josie sprang that birthday surprise on him - thinking it was a toss-up whether Casino would think he'd fallen into sweet clover, or whether he'd be running down the lane yelling for someone to rescue him from the crazy woman with the fur and feathers."

Garrison gave them a slightly less confused, but still rather baleful glance, and took a hearty swig of bourbon. 

"Alright. I get that part. Maybe. At least I think I do. But how did I come into the mix? It's not MY birthday for, well, quite some time. And I had in mind something more like a tie clip, rather than - " his eye roving over the collection on the bed.

"Just doing you a favor, Craig. Trying to be 'elpful and all," came the innocent protest from a face that, for once, just purely failed at innocence, even after all the practice it had had. "Well, you were talking about 'ow the 'elpful blokes up in London gave that uplifting lecture about just setting your teeth, strengthening your resolve, should you ever be put to the test. Know you've gone through a lot before; never gave way yet, not except w'en it was your plan to con them and all. But figured maybe you'd appreciate a little practice in something maybe you 'adn't run into before."

That got Goniff a glare that should have stripped a few layers of skin off. From the smirk Garrison was getting in return, it hadn't quite done the job.

"And the ice. Was Josie intending to have ice too?" he growled, remembering watching Goniff slowly lick the droplets away when he'd picked up the first cube from the bowl Meghada had delivered. 

He shivered, remembering those blue eyes had never lost contact with his own green ones, not for a moment. He remembered more. The anticipation, growing tighter with every slow deliberate step the slender man made toward the bed where Garrison was spread-eagled. The sensation of that dripping cube, slowly, gently touching, teasing first his lips, then the hollow of his throat, down his chest, meandering this way and that, not leaving out any spot of potential interest. He shuddered now, just with that remembering. 

Still, he'd done what that lecturer had preached. He'd set his jaw, reaffirmed his resolve. Til, well, til he couldn't anymore. Til he'd yelled that name, yelled a few other things too.

He flushed, thinking of how desperate he'd probably sounded with that loud yell of "Meghada! Meghada, damn it, get back here right now! Alright, I give up, I surrender! Meghada, you'd better not already be gone, damn it!!"

"So, w'at do you think, Craig? Think we should give Josie the nod?" 

Garrison thought, then slowly nodded. "Yeah, why not. You might even mention the ice; it might be a nice touch," a smirk now on his own lips. 

He took a long look back over that collection, back to the bowl of melted ice. 

Goniff leaned in closer, nudged him with one shoulder. "And should you change your mind about that tie clip, figure Josie won't mind us borrowing some of this again. Bet 'Gaida could even come up with a bit more ice," the grinning pickpocket offered with a rapid quirk of one brow.

Garrison shuddered, remembered. Well, on due consideration, it was really more of a shiver than a shudder. 

"I'll think on it, Goniff. I'll think on it."


End file.
